


Self Care

by MarlynnOfMany



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, The One Where They Take A Dang Nap, also reading books, lemonade and flowers and bees and a light breeze, retired supernatural entities, sleeping in the sun, the good headspace that we all need
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarlynnOfMany/pseuds/MarlynnOfMany
Summary: It's a beautiful day in the garden of a certain cottage, where an angel and a demon are learning how to relax on their own terms.A book, lemonade, and a nap.  That's it; that's the story.  Enjoy.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 68





	Self Care

**Author's Note:**

> A [popular post](https://copperbadge.tumblr.com/post/612678689141948416/randomishnickname-writing-fanfic-at-27-heres) on Tumblr pointed out the appeal of fanfic where They Just Get To Sleep, and I realized that I'd been wanting to write this for a while. Here's the good headspace we all need: reading and napping in the sun.

It was a lazy springtime afternoon in the South Downs, the sort of warm day that features a light breeze, a cloudless sky, and an aura of relaxation that causes even the bees to take their time buzzing from one flower to the next. There were many flowers in the garden, and no hurry to reach all of them. 

This particular garden also held many vines, and shrubs, and fruit-bearing trees, some of which had no business bearing fruit in the same time and place as the flowers grew. None of the plants complained. They knew full well that any blame for physics-defying could be placed squarely at feet of the two supernatural entities lounging under the wisteria-covered arbor. 

To be fair, only one truly lounged: on a day bed set out for exactly that purpose, while the other sat primly at his side with a book. Both considered their own position to be the ideal way to spend a lazy afternoon. 

Both had spent several millennia trying to convince their superiors and themselves that they were not in fact good friends with the other. The sudden freedom to do as they wished was intoxicating. Such an overwhelming array of possibilities had narrowed down, after some thought, to an idyllic retreat that would have provoked scorn and incomprehension from either of their former sides. It couldn’t have been better. 

Small revelations of freedom kept popping up, like love notes hidden around a house. The realization that Aziraphale wasn’t obliged to maintain a storefront in order to blend in with the populace. That Crowley didn’t need to monitor the stock market for opportunities to cause mischief. That they could see each other as often as they liked, and that indeed they never needed to stop. 

Even here, in their own shared home for the first time since the world was made, each new choice brought a thrill of daring along with the joy. Crowley let his hair grow longer than it had in centuries, into tumbling red tresses that were the envy of more than a few neighbors. He only put on his sunglasses when he left the house. Until very recently he’d needed to be drunk before letting Aziraphale see his eyes. If he’d been asked why, he might have said that he didn’t want to put the angel off with such a reminder of his demonic nature. He might have insisted that the shades looked too dashing for him to go without. He would not, even drunk, have said a thing about how well they hid emotions and the direction of one’s gaze. 

Aziraphale was making his own daring choice to forgo the waistcoat and bowtie, a fashion decision that had left him nervous and uncertain the first time he’d tried it. Losing the waistcoat felt like suddenly being released from a reassuring hug — and the moment he had admitted as much out loud, he’d found himself wrapped in a hug that more than made up for it. 

Now they were both dressed comfortably for the weather, in clothes that were gradually becoming familiar, though scant months ago they would have been unthinkable. Aziraphale wore slacks and a button-up shirt with short sleeves (short sleeves!), while Crowley sported black silks that fell somewhere between pajamas, a kimono, and several fashions from centuries past. Indeed, the outfit’s shape tended to change depending on his mood and activity. Aziraphale wouldn’t admit to seeing him trip over the hem earlier, before swearing and miracling the thing shorter. 

He also wouldn’t admit to finding the robes reminiscent of their first meeting. He suspected Crowley knew. 

Aziraphale looked up from his book now to glance at Crowley, taking in the demon’s artful sprawl. Even resting, he appeared dramatic and stylish. 

“I think you’d like this book, my dear.” Aziraphale spoke gently, not wanting to disturb the calm. “There are dashing swordfights and clever schemes.” 

Crowley made a thoughtful noise, turning over and throwing an arm across his face. “Hm. Dashing and clever. Sounds like me.” 

Aziraphale picked up a glass of lemonade from the side table. “Would you,” he said with a too-casual air, “Care to read it when I’m done?” 

An indelicate snort was Crowley’s reply. “I’ll take up reading when you learn to take a nap, Angel.” 

“I nap!” Aziraphale objected. “When I feel like it. You’ve seen me do it!” 

“There’s a difference between sleeping away the dead of night and taking a proper nap in the sun.” Crowley yawned widely, more so than his jaw was probably meant to go. “A proper … relaxing … nap.” 

“Hmf,” Aziraphale said, taking a sip and setting down his lemonade. “It can hardly measure up to relaxing with a good book. Which I maintain you would very much enjoy.” 

“Yesss, the book.” Crowley turned again. One golden eye and half an amused smile regarded Aziraphale from the jungle of hair. “Go on then, tempt me. Read some aloud. Maybe I’ll get a taste for it.” 

Aziraphale gave him a stern look, but nevertheless flipped to the beginning and started reading. His enunciation was clear, and flavored with just enough of the cheesy children’s-magician patter to make Crowley chuckle occasionally. 

“But then they realized the ship was taking on water! Oh no!” 

The pair wiled away a good part of the afternoon that way, with Aziraphale reading dramatically and Crowley adding the occasional comment or approving noise. After a chapter with fewer swordfights, the comments grew fewer. Aziraphale paused to confirm it; Crowley had fallen asleep. 

With a quiet smile, Aziraphale set down the book. He spent a while just gazing fondly, listening to the bees and enjoying the dappled sunlight as a breeze made the wisteria sway. 

The sunlight through the leaves shone brighter on Crowley’s face, interrupting that perfect nap. He opened his mouth to grumble at the wisteria to get its act together, but stopped when something blocked the sun like the feathers of a wing. 

He opened his eyes to see the pages of a book, held by the same smiling angel. 

The smile that bloomed on Crowley’s own face was far too mushy to be allowed. “Oh look,” he said, turning it into a smirk. “Books are good for something after all. Imagine that.” 

Aziraphale wasn’t fooled. “Oh you,” he said, waving the book before marking his page and setting it aside. “Fiend.” 

“Retired fiend,” Crowley replied. He scooted over on the day bed. “C’mere, there’s space for two. It’s far more comfy than that chair.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Aziraphale said. “This is a very comfortable chair.” 

“No chair is as comfortable as lying down,” Crowley declared. 

Aziraphale was already getting up. “Perhaps if you sat in them correctly,” he suggested. 

Crowley scoffed. “Why do you think I _don’t_ sit correctly? Sitting is bollocks.” 

The angel made himself comfortable, hands clasped at his middle. He promptly found an arm and a leg draped over him, with the demon snuggled against his side. 

“This is nice,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale smiled, loosening his fingers to place them on Crowley’s arm instead. “It is,” he admitted. 

Crowley hummed quietly, and his breathing soon evened off into sleep. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. The bees were still buzzing along on their bee business, the breeze still rustled leaves, and songbirds sang deep in the garden. There was just the right amount of shade. 

With a deep sigh, he joined Crowley in the most peaceful nap either of them had ever had. 

The wisteria stretched its leaves to filter the sunlight, getting it just right this time without being asked.


End file.
